


Safe

by ilikeyouxactually



Series: Strung Together By Fate (A collection of Coliver works) [1]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Anxiety, Comforting, Connor's freaking out, Cuddling, M/M, Oliver comforting Connor, Panic Attack, post murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:52:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3248651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilikeyouxactually/pseuds/ilikeyouxactually
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor freaks out after the murder of Sam Keating and his first reaction is to go to Oliver. Oliver comforts Connor and cuddles him to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt I received on tumblr. This is my first time writing oneshots/fics from prompts. I am not a professional writer, so please don’t judge my writing too much. I do welcome and appreciate any critique/criticism, though. I am mostly doing this because I really want to improve my writing, and also because I am so in love with Coliver. I hope you enjoy the fic and stay tuned for more!  
> You can follow me on tumblr to submit prompts to me, or check out my works that are coming soon.  
> [ilikeyouxactually](http://ilikeyouxactually.tumblr.com)

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Breathing was all Connor could focus on. It was the only thing that kept him sane through all of this. The only thing that kept him sane after having just aided with the murder of his boss’s husband—Sam Keating. Connor barely even knew the guy, so who was he to say that he deserved it? Did he deserve to have his head bashed in? Have his body burned out in the middle of the woods? Be hacked up into tiny pieces before being thrown in a dumpster like yesterday’s trash? God, Connor could still smell the smoke. He reeked of it. But, it was a good alibi for the bonfire. But that other smell. The one that would be permanently stuck in his lungs. The foul stench of the burning body. His stomach churned just thinking about it.

After dropping everyone off where they needed to be, he was left all alone. The last thing he wanted and needed was to be alone. He couldn’t be alone in his thoughts. That was dangerous. He was hysterical as he sat in his car, for… he didn’t even know how long he had been there. For a while, he continued listening to Christmas songs, it was the only thing that seemed to really calm him. But the longer he sang, the worse it got. All he could hear was Michaela’s bitching and complaining from earlier. Her whining and panic was exactly how he had felt inside. And the reminder of that just made him feel sick again.

He wanted to go home. Go home and take a shower. Rinse the death and smell of smoke from his body. And once he was done, sit under a freezing stream of water and cry. Connor wasn’t one who was prone to panic attacks, but definitely given the right situation, it didn’t take much to get him riled up and have extreme anxiety. Surely the murder was more than enough to set him over the edge. He was surprised he hadn’t been thrust into a panic attack sooner, but the adrenaline from it all was what had kept him relatively sane. But now that he was alone, now that everything was over, the rush was gone; and the panic was starting to set in. Without a moment’s hesitation, he started his car back up, and drove. Drove to the one place he needed to be. Drove to the one person he needed to see.

Oliver.

*

How long it took to get to Oliver’s, Connor couldn’t say. It felt short, shorter than usual. He was speeding. Frantically speeding because he just needed to get out of this goddamn car. He could hardly stand the thought of being in there. How just hours before, Sam’s body was rolled up in a rug, laying right between him. A part of him wanted to trade in his car and get a new one. Get rid of any and all evidence that it ever happened. But mostly so that every time he got in his car, he wouldn’t have to be reminded of this night.

Finally, he arrived at Oliver’s. He stood outside the very familiar apartment 303, pacing back and forth. Part of him kept saying to just go home, that there was no point in being here. Why was he even here? Because he needed to see Oliver. Before he could continue to convince himself of leaving, he raised a fist to the door. Knock knock. Pause. Knock knock knock. Pause. Knock knock knock knock. ‘Come on, Oliver, answer the goddamn door,’ Connor thought. Just as he was about to knock once more, harder and louder, the door swung open to reveal a very tired, and frustrated looking Oliver. The older man held the door and the frame to prevent Connor from just stepping inside without being let in.

"What are you doing here?" Oliver’s voice was cold, angry. And really, Connor couldn’t blame him. If his ex… whatever showed up in the middle of the night unannounced, he’d be pretty pissed, too.

"I screwed up, Oliver. I screwed up so bad. I—I screwed up." Connor repeated, pacing back and forth in front of the door. A hand clutched the side of his head, hoping and praying that it wouldn’t explode. His heart pounded frantically in his chest, hopefully Oliver couldn’t hear it. Oliver spoke once again, something about smoke, but Connor was much too panicked to comprehend what the man was saying. His body felt heavy as he leaned against the wall for support, sliding down to his ankles. Both hands held his head, his breathing becoming more forced with each passing second. Oliver was now crouched next to him with a hand on his shoulder.

"It’s gonna be okay." Oliver’s tone was comforting now. No trace of anger or annoyance, just comfort. Connor wanted to drown in that comfort. He couldn’t say how long he had been sitting there with Oliver beside him, muttering words that were supposed to make him feel better, and in a way, they did make him feel better. Oliver made him feel better. But it didn’t get rid of the panic and fear. The fear that they would get caught, and be thrown into jail—oh god the panic was coming back.

Connor was being pulled to his feet, and shuffled into Oliver’s apartment. His vision was cloudy and hazy, black spots painting his sight. Thank god Oliver was holding him up, otherwise he’d be on the floor. His head felt light, unbelievably light as he maneuvered through Oliver’s apartment. Next thing he knew, he was on something soft. Soft and bouncy and warm. Was it a cloud? God it felt like a cloud. He lay back, expecting to fall through the cloud, fall through the air. But he didn’t. Connor lay there, staring at the ceiling which was fuzzy, could barely even make out anything around him. He knew he was on Oliver’s bed, and that was all he knew.

Next, the warmth was disappearing. Something was tugging at him, and his legs felt freezing. His torso felt freezing. Why was he so cold. Tilting his head to peek down to his feet, his body was bare except for his black briefs. Oliver was on the other side of the room, fishing through some drawers, before pulling out what looked like some clothes. Connor’s eyes fell shut, his hands balled into fists that gripped the sheets so hard, he had no doubt that his knuckles were turning white.

"Hey… it’ll be okay. I’m here." Oliver’s voice sounded so distant, so far away from him, but he was right here next to him. Eyes fluttering open, he nearly jumped at seeing how close Oliver was. But the closeness was good. The closeness felt safe. His body was warm again, too. Soft sweatpants, and a warm tee-shirt enveloped his body in a warm and comfort he hadn’t expected. He was wearing Oliver’s clothes. With as much strength as he could muster, he pulled himself to the head of the bed before flopping down on one of the pillows, a sigh falling from his lips. “I’m right here.” Oliver muttered as he pulled a warm blanket over him and Connor.

Turning on his side to face Oliver, Connor reached out to run a hand over the older man’s face, his thumb sweeping gently across Oliver’s cheek. “Connor…” Oliver started, but was interrupted by Connor burying himself in Oliver’s chest. He clutched Oliver’s shirt, his body curled in a fetal position. Connor wouldn’t have been surprised if Oliver pushed him away, pushed him out of the apartment. It wouldn’t be the first time. But two warm, loving arms were being wrapped around Connor’s frame. He took it was a signal that it was okay. He mimicked Oliver’s movements and wrapped his arms around Oliver, burying himself so deep in Oliver’s chest that he’d hope he’d never get out again. Oliver’s slender fingers ran through Connor’s hair, soothing him.

The last thing Connor felt that night, was safe.


End file.
